Photos
by armless-phelan
Summary: Ricky Williams is up to no good... Slash. TW: DubCon


The moment he saw him, Ricky Williams knew his prey had already done most of his work for him.

Billy Abbott was sitting on a bar stool in the dive bar known as Jimmy's. He'd become a lapsed alcoholic after his wife, Victoria, was put into a coma. Some crazy person had chased her into traffic with a comb, where the multimillionaire cosmetics heiress had been hit by a bus.

Ricky ignored the rest of the empty seats, Jimmy's often wasn't busy on Tuesday nights, and sat down beside the publishing magnate.

"Club soda, please," he said to the bartender as pulled out his wallet. It might have seemed odd to walk into a dump like Jimmy's and not order a drink, but Ricky needed a clear head.

With bloodshot eyes and slurred speech, Billy mumbled to Ricky. "What is your crazy ass doing here? Shouldn't you be working on my magazine?"

"Miss Phyllis gave me the night off," the young man replied as he took his drink from the bartender with a wink.

Billy laughed in Ricky's face, his foul breath almost making the younger man wince. Almost. "Miss Phyllis? What kind of dumbass would call her that? Me? I'd call her a bitch if she didn't sell magazines. She stole my baby you know."

"The one you bought off the black market?" Ricky asked before realizing he shouldn't have.

"I thought it was a private adoption! It's pretty much the same thing!" Billy exclaimed before taking another drink from his bottle of alcohol. Ricky caught a glimpse of the label. Vodka, and not the classy imported kind: it was the cheap swill a run down bar like Jimmy's would normally serve.

"Sorry I asked." Ricky toyed with his glass before taking a sip. Club soda had no taste he could readily discern, but it was something he could do with his mouth before sticking his foot back in it. Then he undid the top two buttons on his shirt before looking into Billy's eyes. "Am I the only one who thinks it's hot in here?"

"Now that you mention it..." Billy trailed off as he tried to unbutton his own shirt. His fingers fumbled with the loosened tie, unable to do anything until Ricky pushed them away.

Hoping he wasn't blowing his plan, Ricky loosened the tie the rest of the way. "Allow me, Boss." He then undid the top button of Billy's shirt, the scruff of the blond beard tickling his thumbs. He momentarily wondered how and why Billy dressed up like this when he never came in to the Restless Style offices.

"Boss? Nobody ever calls me that," the drunk Billy mused as he began to play with his now loose tie with his left hand.

Ricky let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, relieved that he hadn't been too forward. Or, at least, relieved that Billy was too drunk to know if he had.

"Why not?" Ricky took another drink of his soda.

"I don't know. Chloe, she's my ex-wife, you might've met her. You know: short, brown hair, kinda loud and just married a rodent. Anyway, she just calls me Billy. When she doesn't call me an idiot that is. And Big Red? I'm lucky if I can get her to remember that I AM her boss."

"Phyllis does like to think she's in charge of everything."

"That she does," Billy muttered before grabbing the bottle of vodka with his right hand. His spilled some on the legs of Ricky's pants as he swung it up to his mouth. Billy didn't notice. "Did you know she used to be married to my brother? She likes to make her way around, if you get what I'm saying."

"I do, but she's still my boss, even if she isn't yours."

"Please, I'm your boss. And you can call a slut a Phyllis if you want to."

Billy took another drink from his bottle and his tie slid off. When he reached down to get it, he fell off his stool and planted into the ground face first, his butt hanging up in the air.

Squatting down next the blond man, Ricky grabbed a shoulder and rolled him onto his back. Billy's legs kicked out and knocked over the stool he'd just been sitting on. It banged against Ricky's head and sent the young man crashing onto his own back.

"You guys okay?" The bartender asked as he leaned over the bar.

"I'm fine," Ricky answered as he climbed onto his knees. "He's gonna need some napkins. His nose is bleeding."

Billy groaned as he sat up. He reached for his spilled bottle of vodka, and whimpered when he saw most of it was on the floor. "Hey, Barkeep! Can I get a refill?"

The bartender rolled his eyes as he handed Ricky a handful of napkins. "I think it's time to cut you off. I'm calling you a cab."

"No!" Ricky shouted as he pressed the napkins to Billy's face, albeit a little too hard at first causing the blond to back away. Ricky grabbed the back of Billy's head and held him still as he pressed the napkins back to Billy's nose and titled his boss's head back to try to stop the blood flow. Then he looked to the bartender. "I mean, he's my boss. I can take him home. It might get me a raise."

"I bet that's what you want," the bartender replied as he walked around the bar and helped Ricky lift Billy out of the puddle of blood and booze. "You okay going with this guy? I can still call you a cab?"

"It's fine," Billy said through a face full of napkin. "It's not like I have anywhere to be. And sorry about the mess.  
Add it to my tab."

The bartender looked at Ricky suspiciously, who ignored it. "I'll be doing that Mr. Abbott. And who are you? In case I have to talk the cops?"

"Ricky Williams. I'm Paul Williams' son," he answered brusquely. "Now, if you don't mind...

"I'm gonna need your wallet, sir," Ricky told Billy.

"Why?" Billy asked as he pulled his hand away from his nose, lowering the tissue. When the blood began dripping again, Ricky quickly pushed it back up.

"So I can get your address and put it in my GPS. You can always come back for your car tomorrow."

"It's 1313 Mockingbird Lane."

"I really doubt that," Ricky responded as he reached into Billy's back pocket, ignoring the looks from the bartender, and pulled out Billy's wallet. "Got it. Come on."

"Bye bye," Billy waved to the bartender as Ricky led him out the door.

Y&R

Ricky pulled up to a double wide trailer in a small trailer park. It didn't look right, someone as rich as Billy Abbott wouldn't live someplace so... common. And yet, this was where the GPS in his car had sent him.

"I think I might have put in the wrong address." Ricky told Billy as he double checked the Wisconsin issued ID.

"Nope. This is my place," Billy laughed. "I guess I forgot to update my driver's license when we got the house. This is fine."

"Do you need help getting in?" Ricky didn't care what the answer was, but if Billy agreed things would be so much easier. "I mean, do you have a key?"

"Of course I do," Billy replied as he pulled a keyring out of an interior pocket of his bloody shoot, dropping the bloody napkins on Ricky's car's seat. He then proceeded to drop the keys.

Reaching over and grabbing the keys from where they'd landed, between Billy's thighs, Ricky began to flip through them. "Which one is for the door?"

"I think it has a red cover on it." Billy then began to struggle with his seat belt as Ricky pushed open his car door.

The young man pulled out his cell phone as he walked from his car to the trailer door. He sent a text that said "ready" and then unlocked the door and slipped his phone back in his pocket. Looking back, he saw that Billy was still having problems. Leaving the keys in the lock, he approached the passenger side of the car and opened the door. He leaned in and reached across Billy's torso to undo the seat belt. Then he offered his employer a hand.

"You know, you just may get that raise for this," Billy said as he pointed a wavering finger in Ricky's direction.

"That's what I'm hoping for," Ricky responded as he held Billy up with one hand and closed the car door with the other. He walked the drunk man into his home, pull the keys out of the lock, and kicked the door behind him. "Sit down while I run some water."

"Why do we need water? I have beer in the fridge," Billy argued as Ricky led him the sofa.

Ricky sighed as he guided Billy onto the couch. He hoped his partners had followed him like planned, instead of going straight to Billy's house. Either way, he was sure he could use this situation to his advantage.

"So we can clean you up. I doubt you want me climbing in the shower with you," Ricky told Billy as he ran a rag under lukewarm water. "And you need to take that shirt off before you stain the couch."

Slowly, and with much effort, Billy undid half the buttons on his shirt as Ricky wiped away the dried blood on Billy's face. Ricky then folded the wet rag over and began wiping the blood from the exposed parts of Billy's chest.

"I think I can do that myself." Billy stopped unbuttoning and reached for the cloth, which Ricky pulled away.

Setting the cloth on his already booze soaked knee, Ricky argued. "You can barely undress yourself. Here let me."

He unfastened the rest of Billy's shirt in a matter of seconds. Ricky wondered why his boss didn't wear an undershirt of some kind as he pulled the bloody article of clothing from his body.

"I could've done that," Billy pointed out as Ricky began wiping the last of the blood from Billy's exposed body. Ricky ignored him as he tossed the rag on the table and undid the wrists of his own shirt.

"Something tells me otherwise. Like the fact that your neck is all tense."

"I'm tense because my wife is in a damned coma. The doctor told me that she may have brain damage because she choked on her hair and couldn't get oxygen to her brain."

Ricky adjusted himself so that he was sitting behind Billy and half straddled his boss as he began massaging his neck. "I had an ex that was taking massage therapy classes at the local college back home. Taught me a few things. Want me to show you?"

While there was no definitive answer, the pleased growl that bordered on purring that emanated from Billy's throat sufficed enough to encourage Ricky to move down to the shoulders.

"We've never really talked. What do you like to do for fun?" Ricky whispered in Billy's ear. He knew he was walking a thin line, but it wasn't like he'd never done this before. "Besides drinking, that is."

"I don't know. I never really have fun anymore. Between losing Lucy, Victoria getting hit by a bus, and Chelsea suing for custody of the new baby, there isn't a lot of fun to be had."

"That's sad. I'm sorry to hear it. You always looked like a fun guy to me."

"Marriage changes you." Billy leaned back into Ricky's hands, his muscles relaxing. "There's no more friends or get togethers. Nobody comes over to visit unless they're yelling at me. Listen to me, never get married."

"I couldn't if I wanted to," Ricky breathed into Billy's ear. He moved from Billy's shoulders and began running his hands up and down Billy's arms. "If you want, I can show you how to have fun again."

Y&R

Daylight was breaking and Ricky thought about closing the blinds, but didn't want to get out of the bed. Besides, the light might make for a better picture, if Chelsea and Adam had done their part. He curled one leg between Billy's two and pulled him into a spooning position. Then he kissed Billy's broad back as he ran a hand the length of the blond's torso before settling it on his thigh.

"Mmm," Billy murmured, still half asleep. "Vicky, you forgot to shave your legs again."

Ricky continued to say nothing as he licked and and bit at Billy's shoulder, hoping the hangover would dull certain senses. Billy grabbed the hand on his thigh and held it.

"You know, I had a dream that you were in a coma." Billy began to roll over, and Ricky used his free hand to cover his eyes as his tongue attacked Billy's neck. "You're feisty thing morning. And kinda quiet."

Letting go of Ricky's hand, Billy reached up and pulled back Ricky's other hand so his eyes were free. Thankfully, all he could see was the top of Ricky's head as he blinked the sleep from his eyes.

"I see you finally got your hair cut. It wasn't looking kinda bad..." Billy then trailed off as he realized that it wasn't his wife in his bed. "WHAT THE HELL?"

"Good morning to you, too." Ricky smiled as Billy jumped out of the bed and did his best to cover himself with the blanket. The brunette young man man rolled over into the spot Billy had just vacated, barely covering himself with the remaining sheet.

"What just happened?" Billy asked as he backed away. "Did we..."

A smiled played on Ricky's lips. He could lie, but the truth was much juicier than anything he could make up. "We were safe. You insisted on it. And don't worry, you won't be the one walking funny today. I know how you tops can get."

"I'm a top?" Billy sighed a momentary sigh of relief. Then he came back to reality. "How did we? When? Where?"

Kicking a leg loose from the sheet, Ricky raised it over his head like an expert gymnast. "I would think that's obvious. I mean, I was fine with the couch but you insisted on coming in here."

"I... insisted?" Billy sat down in a nearby desk chair, still incredibly aware of the blanket. "But I'm straight. And you are, too. Aren't you?"

"I don't like to use labels, but if you wanted one you could say I'm a Kinsey 5."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Come here and I'll show you. Again," Ricky teased. He knew this could very well cost him his job, but the scandal of a lawsuit would ruin Restless Style, and he already had a nice influx of cash into a newly opened Cayman Islands bank account from Adam Newman. He was nigh untouchable.

"I'm good. I think. You said we were safe. That mean we used a condom?"

"Amongst other things. You said I let you do things your wife would never..."

Billy held his head in his hands and he talked to himself. His tone was too hushed for Ricky to make out what exactly he was saying. Then he looked up. "Um, would you mind leaving? Please? I think I have a lot to think about."

"No problem," Ricky said as he climbed out of the bed. Billy looked away. "I have to be in the office in a few hours anyway. Will I be seeing you there?"

"Please, just go."

Ricky walked by Billy, making sure not to touch him, lest something violent happen. He didn't think it likely, but with rich people you could never tell. They weren't as easy to read as the poor people he grew up with.

After dressing and calling out a "Later!" that never got a reply, Ricky walked to his car with a bit of a limp as he pulled out his cellphone. He looked up the name "Wilson" in his contacts and dialed it as he climbed behind the wheel.

A male voice picked up, clearly ecstatic. "And what can I do for you?"

Ricky started his car and and backed out of the trailer's drive. "So, did you guys get the pictures that you needed?"


End file.
